The Days Before
by EarlyMorningWishes
Summary: Mary Winchester made the deal with the Yellow-Eyed demon, and she knew when her bill was due. She knew better than to take him at his word; he would come for something she cared about, she was sure. So when the time came, Mary was ready to face a demon army. Except nothing happened. Nothing happened until she let her guard down. T for some violence and obvious character death


**Author's Note:** Hey everybody! I'm updating this chapter to correct something and to alter this author's note.

I'm still new to the Supernatural fandom (I just started watching it last summer), but I have watched just about every episode including all of season 8. My mind has just exploded with Supernatural fics and Supernatural crossover fics. I decided I would post a one-shot just to ease into it. Instead of making this a two-shot, I might upload The Days After as its own entity. It's basically Mary's perspective before and during the episode "Home" in season 1.

I have uploaded my second Supernatural fanfic recently, and I would love it if you guys would check that out and drop a review there. It's focused on a side character, but Dean will be in it too (not as a pairing mind you).

Please be sure to review this and let me know how I'm doing; thank you!

Looking back to the Pilot episode, I've always felt that Mary (being a hunter and knowing when her bill was due) would never go down the way she did. She would have prepared for Yellow-Eyes and at least tried to fight him off. This is my take on Mary Winchester and "the days before" she died. Enjoy!

* * *

Mary sat down heavily, the weight of the last two weeks sliding off her shoulders and leaving her exhausted.

It had been ten years and a week to the day that she made the deal with _that_ demon. Ten years and he hadn't shown up.

She had lived her white-picket fence life for the last ten years, and now that the deal collection date had expired, Mary could live the rest of her days in peace. She could raise her sons with John and never have to look over her shoulder again.

Mary smiled and closed her eyes.

A week before her bill came due, Mary had stocked up on salt and ran lines around the house and over the windowsills and in front of the doors. John shrugged it off as a prank from one of the neighborhood's bored teenagers the first two mornings he woke up to see all the salt outside his house. Mary encouraged that interpretation.

Then Mary sent him on a trip with the boys to visit some of his family two states over. That bought her another twelve days to salt the house inside without any suspicions, and she also painted a devil's trap in almost every room.

She dug out an old crucifix from her hunting days that she had kept for confronting the demon and churned out gallons of holy water. Then she pulled out a silver knife like it was poison, crinkling her nose at it.

But she made herself practice with it, knowing that she was rusty after all the years of retirement. It came back to her faster than she would have liked, but by the day of collection, she was confident in her hunting skills once again.

From midnight to midnight, Mary stayed awake with her knife in one hand and the first of many containers of holy water in the other. The salt was in place and the devil's traps were covered with rugs. Her sheets of Latin had been memorized. Mary was ready for a demon war.

But nothing happened.

There were no flickering lights, no whiffs of sulfur, no omens, and no omens on the news radio; there was just nothing.

Mary fitfully slept the following days, always with her knife and holy water in reach.

Finally, the night before her boys came home, Mary started getting rid of the evidence. She scrubbed away all but two or three of the devil's traps, and the ones she left were the hardest to find under the large rugs.

She dumped half the supply of holy water and stowed the remainder under the sink, way in the back.

She swept away all the salt lines and tucked the extra tub of salt back way back in the pantry.

She hid her knife back in the floorboards in her closet with the crucifix and the few sheets of Latin for her refresher course.

She welcomed John, Dean, and Sam back with tears of literal joy. She had missed her boys so badly, and she was so happy the demon had never made an appearance.

She spent the next day cuddling with her little Sammy, such a sweet three-month-old baby, and her sweet Dean, an adorable little four year old. John slept off the days of driving, but made his family dinner on the grill as his treat.

As she put her babies to bed that night, she double-checked the small devil's traps she put on their doors and windows. It wouldn't hurt to be careful for a few more days, until a solid week after the collection date.

The last day of the solid week ended with a romantic evening with John, candles and everything.

The demon never showed, and now, at one o'clock in the morning of the eighth day of no demons, Mary could finally relax.

She dumped her knife, the extra salt, the Latin, the holy water, and the crucifix once and for all. She would never touch anything of her old life again. Her hunting skills could rust away to nothing. She was finally, finally done.

She smiled again, laughing quietly now, her tiredness overcome by happiness.

Forcing herself to stand, Mary climbed the stairs to her room, rubbing away the last of the paint on her hands from scrubbing up the last of the devil's traps.

Climbing back in bed next to John, he turned bleary eyes on her, "You 'kay?"

Unable to stop a crazy smile, Mary squeezed herself against John, "Yeah John, I'm more than okay."

"S'good," John mumbled as he wrapped his arms around her and drifted back to sleep.

Mary bit her lip and frowned for a tiny second, remembering the awful night that John died. She remembered cradling him in her arms and staring at his lifeless eyes. Shuddering, she buried her head in the crook of his neck.

He unconsciously pulled her tighter and she relaxed. He was alive now and they had two beautiful little boys. That was what mattered.

Maybe their marriage and life weren't perfect, but in the bottom of her heart, Mary knew they could last. She would be starting her new part-time job in a month, and that would help with their money problems. John was looking at an expansion at the garage, and they were making progress with their latest marital problem.

As she drifted to sleep, Mary thought about what her children might grow up to be.

Dean was a smart and clever little boy, but Mary didn't think he would be the type with patience to go through college. He would probably be a hands kind of guy like his father. Maybe she could convince him to be some kind of an engineer. That would be a good compromise.

Sammy, though only a baby, was showing signs of intelligence. He would probably be her little college boy. Maybe he could be a doctor, or maybe a politician. Wrinkling her nose, she hoped he would not pick the latter. Politicians were generally not well liked. Maybe he could be a professor or a professional speaker.

Finally making it to unconsciousness, Mary was reassured by one thing regarding the future of her babies. They would never grow up to be hunters. She would never let them.

* * *

Mary wasn't exactly sure what it was that woke her up. She felt a little disoriented and tried to wrack her brain for the reason she was awake at sometime around midnight three months later. Sammy had officially turned six months.

Then the baby monitor crackled in and out of life before Sammy's cries filled the room.

Mary reached for John but found him missing.

Climbing out of bed, Mary made her way to the nursery, pushing the door open. Seeing the dark shape of a man over the crib, Mary rubbed her eyes and offered her assistance, "John, is he hungry?"

He shushed her and waved her on, so Mary simply obeyed and made it to the hall before the questions started to pop up.

John rarely woke up to the baby monitor. He could sleep through a bomb going off most nights.

But she shrugged it off because John did have his days. He had made it through Vietnam after all, and occasionally, he had trouble sleeping. She was about to go back to bed when the hall light flickered.

Her hunter instincts said: There's a ghost or a demon in the house. Her civilian instincts said: The bulb is dying or isn't screwed in all the way. Her mother instincts said: I had better take care of that loose bulb before it falls. Dean could get hurt on the shards.

Mary ignored her hunter instincts, because it had been three months since the collection date and _that_ demon hadn't shown. Therefore that demon would not show up, and her non-hunter life was the only life she would be living.

She tapped the bulb and sure enough, the flickering stopped. No demon and no ghost. In the morning, she would have to replace the dying bulb.

But then she heard the TV on downstairs.

It made sense; John would watch TV if he had trouble sleeping. He probably had heard Sammy over the program he was watching. That was it; there was no reason to go downstairs and check otherwise.

But Mary reasoned that she should at least turn the TV off. John would come back and sleep with her, and if not, it wouldn't kill him to turn the TV back on himself.

So Mary descended the stairs and began the short journey over to retrieve the remote.

Except John was in the chair sleeping, the first hint of drool glistening in the blue light the TV created.

So many emotions slammed Mary at once that she could not have made a sound if she wanted. She turned in horror and raced back to Sammy's nursery.

The entire trip, Mary never once thought to get the saltshaker from the dining room. She didn't think to retrieve the solid silver spoon still in the box from Christmas. She didn't think to grab one of the old-fashioned iron pokers John picked up at a garage sale as a joke. She didn't know for sure what she was even dealing with.

The only thought racing through her head at a million miles per hour was, '_Not Sammy. Don't hurt my Sammy_.'

Mary made it to the nursery, heart pounding and adrenaline spiking. Fear had a tight grip on her as she saw the _thing_ still in Sammy's room.

Then it turned its yellow eyes on her and Mary's heart wanted desperately to stop. But there was enough anger coursing through her veins for the monster that she spat out, "_You_."

There was the evil that killed her parents and her husband. There was the creature that had no sense of timing and came late. Late enough that she was unprepared. There was _that_ demon hovering over her baby.

She charged anyway. Knowing there was nothing she could do, and knowing that she stood no chance of saving herself or her family.

The hunter in her was ashamed, humiliated, and resigned. The hunter knew it stood no chance, but it also knew there were civilians in danger. The civilian in her was silent. The civilian could only call the police, which was useless and annoying. It knew to keep it's mouth shut and let the hunter take over. The mother in her had only one thought: to save and protect her son. The mother and the hunter were in full agreement.

She charged, aiming to put herself between her baby and her enemy. She would either attack the demon or grab the baby, but either way; she had to get him away from Sam.

Mary barely made one stride before the demon's telekinesis slammed her into the wall. She let out a scream of surprise and horror, knowing a little of what would happen next.

Sammy was still crying, and Mary wanted nothing else than to have him safe in her arms. She wanted to say good-bye to Dean and John; she wanted to hold them one last time too.

As she slid up the wall, she couldn't bring herself to say anything. She heard John's shout from downstairs and desperately prayed that the demon would simply kill her and leave her husband and children alone.

As her head scrunched painfully against the ceiling, Mary was thankful for one thing. Sammy was too little to remember this. He would not be scarred by it.

The demon had her sliding across the ceiling now, directly above him. He smiled at her and wagged his pointer finger, "I told you no one would get hurt if I wasn't interrupted."

Mary swallowed hard; her eyes flicking over to Sam and then back to door, hearing John's heavy steps on the stairs.

"Leave them alone," she whispered hoarsely.

"Mary, Mary, Mary," the demon said, even as his pointer finger slid across the air, opening a wound on her abdomen, "I don't want Dean and John; I'll leave them alone. I really don't even want you. You did your part. You were my favorite mare, and now, you've given me my favorite little colt. He's the one I'm betting on. I almost regret killing you just because I want you to see what he'll turn into. That would be a great show. Now zip those lips and enjoy my little parting gift."

The demon vanished, and Mary was left frozen as John reached the door. Her face was stuck on a horrified scream, but not because of the wound.

She had seen the cut on the demon's hand, and now she could see a tiny smear of red on her baby's mouth. The demon's words rang through her mind and she put two and two together.

It was her fault. All of this was on her. She made the deal, and this was the result. The cut across her stomach branded her for what she had done. This whole time, she thought the demon would come after her; she had been his "favorite." But he had been after what came from her, and he had carved her up in a way to show it. He was after her little Sammy, and he had fed him his blood. She failed him; she failed to protect her son. She had failed to protect her family.

She wanted to scream, to shout, and to cry. She wanted to warn John about what had just happened. She wanted to tell him the truth about her and the terrible world of hunting. She wanted to reach Sammy and make to foul demon blood get out of him before it was too late. She wanted to tell him she was sorry for doing this to him.

John entered the room slowly, cooing to Sammy, and Mary couldn't do a single thing. She watched, as her broken heart shattered, and her apologies and warnings went unheard.

A single drop of her blood finally fell, landing beside Sammy's head. John saw it and moved to investigate. A second drop fell directly onto John's hand. She knew what would happen next. She fought with every ounce of strength that she had to regain enough control to speak. She had to tell him about the demon. She had to tell him about the demon blood. She had to warn them; she had to protect her family!

Then the third drop fell and John looked up.

Mary desperately wanted to comfort him, to wipe that look from his face and be sure nothing ever caused him to feel that way again. She didn't want him to know the kind of pain that hunters were so familiar with. She wanted him to keep believing in happily-ever-afters.

Then the fire whooshed to life from behind her, in the non-existent space between her back and the ceiling.

Before it consumed her and obstructed her sight, she saw John grab Sam as his crib burst into flames. She saw Dean arrive at the door, his little body shaking and his little eyes filled with fear and confusion. She saw John give Sam to his brother and the two of them leave. She was truly relieved for the first time that night; her babies were safe now, for a while. They would survive the night.

But then John turned back to her. She wanted to shout at him, and in her head she did. He needed to go; it was to late for her. Their boys would need their father. Then the fire picked up its pace and all Mary could see was the bright yellow and orange lights.

The pain had been excruciating at first, but then the pain began to subside. Her body was failing, the nerves burned away, and soon she would be dead.

Had John made it out? Was he going to die with her? Were the boys being taken care of? Who would take care of them if John died too? Who would protect all of them from the demon? What would happen to Sammy? What did the demon have planned for him?

Mary's sight went out quickly after that, and the roaring sound of the fire was not far behind in disappearing. She couldn't feel anything at all. As the numb darkness took control and her mind faded, her last thought was, '_I failed them. I failed to protect them_.'


End file.
